


In The Woods

by randomling



Category: Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe, Centaurs, Dimension Travel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomling/pseuds/randomling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris finds himself in a strange new world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Woods

Chris arrives in a puff of smoke and leaves, takes one look around him, and falls forward.

He's in the woods. When, after a moment, he rolls onto his back, he can look up and up the trunks of the trees to see the red-gold canopy above. The ground is littered with dead leaves, and beneath them, grass and dirt.

_I'm dreaming,_ he says to himself. _Right now I'm curled up in bed, all warm and cosy._ There's a chill in the air touching his face and hands, and the ground is solid and real underneath him, but how else could he be in downtown Orlando one minute and a forest the next? _I'll wake up in my house. My nice, warm house._

He screws his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up. But when he opens them, he's still here, lying on his back in the dirt, staring up at grey sky through the gaps in the leaves.

"Are you all right?" a voice says.

Chris sits up, looks around, but can't see the owner of the voice. "Where are you?" he calls.

"Right here." There's a rustling behind one of the trees. Chris looks, but sees only the movement of a bush. "Wait a minute."

Chris waits. A head appears first, and either Chris is very low-to-the-ground or the guy is huge; the head seems a long way up to Chris. Then he takes a few short steps out of the shadows, and Chris can only gape, because it's... it's not a guy. He has the head and torso of a man, but at around waist-level, man becomes horse.

Chris drags the word centaur from somewhere in the depth of his subconscious.

"Now I _know_ I'm dreaming," Chris says.

***

"Here's good," Joe says. Chris can't really tell one part of the forest from another, so he grunts his agreement.

The centaur's actual name is not Joe, but it's long-winded, and foreign-sounding, and hard to pronounce, and did he mention long-winded? Joe suits him, anyway. He's steady, solid, warm.

It's been a month. A month of rabbit stew, firelight and homemade wine. A month sleeping on the floor of a house in the village Joe brought him to that first cold afternoon. A month of knowing that he isn't dreaming.

Joe, Chris knows, is a creature of the forest. He doesn't live in the village with the humans: he lives out here. He knows each tree and bush intimately.

Well. Not _intimately._ Chris hopes not, anyway.

"You good?" Joe asks, and turns his head. Chris nods, and Joe hands him the lighter of the two axes he's brought.

"You don't have to - " Chris begins for about the nineteenth time, even though he knows Joe kind of does. The only way Chris will know which trees are okay to cut is if Joe shows him. The natives, they know, but Chris is still a city boy who's desperate to get home.

"I'm okay with it," Joe says, and he smiles his patented friendly smile. Chris smiles back, hefts the axe, and waits for Joe to pick a tree. But after a second, Joe gets very still. Chris follows his gaze.

"What?" Chris says.

"Sh." Joe waves a hand to quiet Chris. Chris doesn't need telling twice.

He can't see anything, except maybe a small movement deep in the trees. Then, a second later, another.tiny movement, a little closer. Then -

"Chris," Joe says in a low, urgent voice, and he folds his hind legs. When Chris freezes, Joe says, "Get on."

Chris hesitates for another couple of seconds, then climbs cautiously onto Joe's back. "Hold on tight," Joe says. There's an unholy screech as he turns and flees.

Being on Joe's back is like an unholy combination of riding a horse and sharing a motorbike. Underneath Chris, Joe is galloping, moving through the trees fast enough to make Chris's head spin. But at his front, there is a human waist to hold onto, a rough woven shirt to clasp. Chris tries a couple of times to look behind him, and wobbles precariously each time. Eventually he just clings to Joe's back, feeling helpless and confused.

After several long and uncomfortable minutes, Joe slows and, after turning in a careful circle, comes to a complete stop.

"What the hell was that?" Chris says.

Joe folds his hind legs again to let Chris dismount. "A harpy, I think," he says. The word trips a faint tone in Chris's head, though the first meaning that comes to mind is bitch. He breathes in and out, glad to be back on solid ground.

"You know where we are, right?" Chris asks. They're still surrounded by trees.

Joe laughs heartily. "Of course I do."

***

Joe carries most of the weight. "Makes sense," Joe says when Chris protests, and Chris figures it does. He's built for carrying bigger loads.

Three months in, and if pushed, Chris could probably tell you which trees were okay to cut down, but he isn't telling Joe that. This has become a ritual: heading out of the village in the morning, coming back in the evening loaded down with logs and - if they're lucky - a few rabbits. Joe's teaching Chris how to coax fish from the streams, which leaves can be used as medicines, which mushrooms are poisonous.

Still, there's a lot of days that Chris would give anything for a Taco Bell.

It's starting to get dark as they walk along the trail towards home, Joe taking the lead. They cross the little stream that means they're about a half-hour from home. Chris kneels to fill his leather pouch with water, absent-mindedly holds his hand out for Joe's, fills that too. As they start walking again, Chris sips. He misses Mountain Dew.

"Wanna stop for a while?" Joe asks.

_That's a first,_ Chris thinks. "Uh, sure," he says.

"Cool," says Joe. "I live across here."

Chris smiles, because it seems like the right moment for him to visit Joe's house. Or cave, or whatever it turns out to be. He slings his water-pouch back over his shoulder and follows Joe along the stream,

It turns out to be somewhere between house and cave. The structure looks like it's been carved out of the side of the hill; and there's a 'yard' that's been cleared of trees. Joe darts about lighting torches, and with light everwhere, the place is even something like beautiful.

Joe settles down in the middle of the front yard and sets to work on a fire.

Chris sits opposite him and watches. He's amazed how fit he's getting, daily trips to the woods, hacking away at trees, lugging wood about. He knows now why Joe is so muscular.

"You live alone?" Chris asks, just making conversation.

A spark catches the kindling, and Joe looks up. "For now." He smiles warmly at Chris, and Chris finds himself smiling back.

They don't go back to the village for two days.


End file.
